


enigma

by deckadent



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:37:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deckadent/pseuds/deckadent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You first saw him the day your mother died.</p><p>enigma:<br/>iˈniɡmə<br/><i>noun</i>; a person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	enigma

**Author's Note:**

> APOLOGIZES IN ADVANCE i have no idea what this is

You first saw him the day your mother died.

It wasn't dark, and it wasn't raining, though if it was then you're sure the full effect would've been in much more abundance. But instead the sun was shining brightly, and it was a really good day. Your mother, father, and yourself were riding in your car, on the way back home. You had just been to the supermarket, so the backseat was full of groceries that you were trying very carefully not to smush. Your eyes found themselves staring out of the window, watching everything pass by.

You weren't really acknowledging anything the car was passing. It was just a bunch of flying colors your eyes were grazing over. But he caught your eye - literally, his eyes bore straight into you. They were a bizarre shade of... red? His hair was blonde, a surprising shade too, one you've never seen on someone before. He wore a red jacket, and his hands rested in the pockets. He paired this with dark jeans, and a pair of converse. You could only see his eyes, though. Of course, you only saw them for half a second, and not just because the car was moving. Perhaps you could've looked into his eyes for a millisecond more if the car hadn't, you know, crashed.

After that, everything got blurry. You were only twelve, after all. It's been years since this incident. You remember there being a lot of pain, and you remember your dad screaming for your mom, but then you're pretty sure you were knocked unconscious, because the next thing you remember was the hospital.

The boy with the red eyes wasn't important to you then. He was just a guy who happened to be walking down the street when your mom died. You guess it's still kind of weird to say it out loud like that, but you quickly found out the more you said it the less real it became. This is definitely backwards, you know, which is why you didn't tell anyone about it. You made sure to say it a lot though. _My mom died, my mom died, my mom died. Mom is dead. My mother is dead._ When the accident first happened, she was the only thing on your mind. It hurt so bad. Your heart hurt so bad. Red Eyes wasn't on your mind, your hurting was. Your dead mother was. Not him.

So you sucked it up. For the first few weeks, you cried a lot. You just cried and cried and cried and could give less of a shit if anyone said you were a baby because your mom died, dammit, and you were upset about it. Eventually though, you stopped. Not because you had run out of tears, you had enough of those to last a lifetime, but because you saw him again.

Red Eyes was an enigma to you. The second time you saw him you were thirteen, and you were walking home from school. You don't normally walk home from school, you actually ride the bus, but today you were not in the mood to deal with that loud and obnoxious atmosphere, and you're house isn't too far, so you just decide to walk. Halfway there, and you saw him.

He wasn't walking, instead he was just sitting on the sidewalk, with headphones in his ears, tapping his foot to a beat you couldn't hear.

You don't really know what came over you. At first, your heart had stopped. You immediately recognized him, even though he looks slightly different now. He wears aviator sunglasses, and his hair was longer than before. But he still had that atmosphere you couldn't really grasp. You don't know how to describe it. But you felt it, and it triggered something in you, something very weird, because you instantly just walked up to him and sat down - admittedly too close than probably necessary. Completely out of character.

He just turned his head in your direction, you're not positive he ever actually looked at you, and you felt really weird looking at the reflection of yourself in his sunglasses instead of his eyes. You're really, really stupid for what you say next. "Um," you start, "Can I see your eyes?"

His face doesn't change, but he tilts his body slightly back, probably alarmed at your poor excuse for a greeting. "What?"

His voice is lovely.

"I mean!" you backtrack. "I mean - I was just, um, wondering if you're someone I've seen before, that's all. You look really familiar."

He raises an eyebrow at you. "So you want to see my eyes?"

"Is that weird?" you say. "Because I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to. I'm pretty sure you're the guy anyway. You just, you know, scream _The Guy_." You are one hundred percent aware of how ridiculous you sound, but you don't care, because he's not telling you to fuck off just yet.

"Do I know you?"

"I don't know," you admit. "My name is John. John Egbert. Do you know me?"

He just sort of stares at you for a second, you guess. You can't tell what he's thinking, and, oh, do you wish you could. "Oh," he says finally. "You look different."

You weren't expecting him to actually know who you are. Like, at all. Instead of being curious about that, though, you ask, "I do?"

"Yeah, you grew into your teeth sort of and your hair's gotten worse."

You snicker and shove him over. "Yeah, whatever. You don't look the same either. At least, you don't look how I remember you looking."

"How did I used to look?"

"Well, for one, your hair has also gotten worse," you begin, "Also, what's up with the aviators?"

"My shades?" He lifts an eyebrow, and you can vaguely trace disbelief on his features. "What do you mean? You've seen me without them on?"

"Yeah, man, your eyes are so pretty," you say, then immediately - "Cool! Your eyes are pretty cool. Like, all red and stuff. Yeah."

"Nice save," he says, and he's wearing a smirk now, but it falls just as easily as it came. "So you saw me that long ago? I don't remember that. I've seen you lots of other times, though."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, I've seen you around, dude," he says, nonchalant. "Out and about."

"Out and about," you echo.

"Yeah," he looks away from you. "I haven't been spying on you or anything, if that's what you're thinking. I just see you walking home from school and stuff."

"I didn't think you were stalking me," you reassure him, then wiggle your eyebrows. "But now I'm suspicious."

He shoves you lightly, but a smile plays at his lips. "Shut up."

"So what are you doing out here?"

He shrugs. "Lost."

"Oh," you say, looking down.

"What about you?"

You lift your head up. "Huh?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Haha, oh." You reach your hand up to rub at the back of your neck. "I'm walking home from school today."

"You're not doing a lot of walking."

You hit him in the arm. "That's because I'm talking to you, stupid." You roll your eyes at him, and you know he sees because a smirk grows on his face, and actually stays there. "So you're lost? What's your name?"

"What does my name have to do with me being lost?"

"Dude, just tell me your name."

"I'm Dave Strider," he says, and he tilts his head your way like this information is supposed to be the coolest shit you've ever heard. You're secretly wondering why he introduced himself with his first and last name. Then again, you introduced yourself with your own first and last name a few minutes ago. But you were only doing that to check whether or not he knew you, which he said he did. Oh yeah, how does he know you again? Maybe you should ask him. Wait, but you just met him, maybe you shouldn't ask him so many questions at once, he probably thinks you're a weirdo already -

"Stop thinking so much," Dave groans beside you, leaning his head back. The sun shines nicely on his face, you think. You're going to pretend that you actually didn't think that. "You're giving me a headache."

"Because you can totally read my thoughts," you say sarcastically.

He makes a pained expression towards you, and the fact that you can see it makes you realize that wow, he took his shades off, when did that happen?

"Hey, your shades are off," you point out. Your finger points in his direction rather dumbly.

"Yes they are," he agrees, and you can see that he's pointedly not looking at you. But that's okay, because you can still see his eyes. They're vibrant, and red, and everything they were when you saw them that awful day three years ago. You're fifteen now, and it's crazy, because you forget what you learn in math class the minute you walk out the door, but it's been around one thousand and ninety-five days since you saw these eyes, and you remember them clearly. It's like you had forgotten them, but not really. Like riding a bike. Everyone makes that analogy, but it's true. You yourself haven't ridden a bike since way before your mother died, but you know if someone walked up to you right now and said, "Hey man, ride this bike," you'd be perfectly capable of doing it. You've only seen his eyes once, but they're still so familiar. A part of you wonders that maybe you've seen them more than once.

"You're doing it again," Dave says, startling you.

You blink. "Doing what?"

" _Thinking._ "

You laugh lightly. "Oh yeah. My bad."

"What were you thinking about?" he asks you.

You really don't want to tell him that you were just romanticizing his eyes. That is definitely a thing that you do not ever want to admit to Dave Strider. You look away, your face heating up. "Nothin'."

"Look, I know my eyes are weird," he says. "I don't know why I took my shades off so soon, you don't even know who I am yet. I don't even know if you really remember seeing them all that time ago, or whatever. It's cool if you think they're weird. I mean, come on, they are."

"Dave!" you exclaim, worried that he might think you've been insulting him in your head. "I don't even think they're weird, gosh, shut up! And yeah-huh, I do remember seeing your eyes. I remembered that they were red. I thought you didn't even remember that day?"

"I don't," he says lowly. "I wasn't talking about that day."

"Well, then what were you talking about - "

Suddenly he sighs loudly, contentedly. "You know, John Egbert, I don't even know who you are. I have absolutely no idea. What's your name again?"

"You just said my n - "

"See, I can't even remember. You should rekindle my memory for me."

"Dave, what are you even talking about?"

"Tell me about yourself."

You scrunch your eyebrows together. "Why?"

He shrugs. "Why not? Just play along."

Already having forgotten about what you'd been so eager to know earlier, you do as he says. "What do you want me to say?"

"Just pretend you're writing an autobiography, and I am that one person who's beside you the whole way. Or that person that'll give you a thousand bucks if you sell more than ten copies."

"Will you give me a thousand bucks if I make it interesting, then?" you ask.

"Absolutely not."

You sigh dejectedly. "Fine," you say. "Um, where should I start?"

"Start with your name."

"Er, alright. My name is John Egbert, and, um - "

"Tell me everything."

And you do. You tell Dave about how you grew up with your mom and dad, how your best friend was your sister. You tell him how her name is Jade, and that she's the same age as you, and you tell him how she's black and how she's transgender. You ask him if that bothers him, nervous, and he says, "Why the fuck would I be bothered by that?" So you continue. You tell him that Jade is taller than you, and that she's really pretty and looks awesome in a skirt. You tell him how she likes space and never ignores you when you have problems.

You also tell him about your other friend, Rose. You say you met Rose when you were in middle school, when you tried to kiss her during lunch and she turned you down in front of everybody in the cafeteria. Two days later she came out, and started dating a pretty girl named Kanaya. Most people thought you'd be upset or something, you guess, but you were actually super relieved. You'd thought she didn't want to kiss you because you were just really unattractive. After that, Rose sat with both you and Jade during lunch, and you all started becoming really good friends.

Then your mom died, and that's when you started thinking about Dave. You try to stay away from the subject of him as much as possible. You say that his eyes were actually the last thing you saw before the crash, and that's all you're willing to reveal. You don't say how Dave irked you somehow, on the inside. You don't say how recently, Dave's all you can think about. Instead you say how after the crash, things got really bad with your family. Jade lives on an island now, with your cousin, Jake. He's, like, twenty-three and you guess they have a lot in common when it comes to interests. You think Jade will be happier there. She wasn't in the car when it crashed, thank god, but you think the whole thing affected her more than it ever did you.

You tell Dave little details about yourself now. You just list things off as you think of them. My favorite color is blue. I like being outside in the morning. I like being outside when it's windy. I like movies, especially movies with Nic Cage and Matthew Mcconaughey (he laughs at this, and his laugh is beautiful, you think, but you don't tell him that, because what the hell, he totally just laughed at your taste in actors). After you tell him your favorite food is pancakes, you sit up, suddenly aware that you were lying down. He sits up too, which makes you realize that he was _also_ lying down, and what the heck? Why were you both just lying on the dirty ground when you could be home right now or something, that's so stupid. You tell him so.

He shakes his head. "I don't do houses."

"I'm not asking you to make love to my house, Dave," you tell him.

"You know what I mean, Egbert. Can it."

You chuckle. "But seriously! Sitting out here is so weird. There are cars driving by every two seconds."

"John, a car hasn't driven by in eight minutes and forty-two seconds. And counting."

"Why are you keeping track of that?" You make a face at him. "Come on, Dad's probably not even home. He stays out late these days. We can do something. We're friends now, right?"

"Sure, but - "

You gasp. "What! I just told you my whole life story and the best you have is a _sure?_ "

He stares at you, looking amused. You don't know why, you are very seriously angry right now. "We are the chummiest fishes in the deep blue sea, John, but I still can't - "

"Why not?"

"Because - "

"Because why?"

" _Egbert._ " He sounds exasperated. "Would you shut up for a goddamn second so I can explain?"

You sigh and nod, leaning your head on your hand, elbow resting on your knee.

"Okay. You told me all about yourself, and that's cool, but you still don't know anything about me," he starts. "I can't go to your house."

"But Dave - "

"Repeat after me, John. I."

"Dave, seriously?"

" _I_ ," he says, waiting.

You comply, groaning. "You."

"Can't."

"Can't."

"Go to."

"Go to."

"Your house."

"My house."

"Alright?" Dave asks now, setting a hand on your shoulder.

"Alright."

"John."

You stick your tongue out at him. "John."

"Hell no, _hell no_ , John stop that right n - "

"John stop that right now - "

Dave stands up abruptly. "I'm going home."

"Wait!" You're quick to stand too, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. You're silently thankful that you're not one of those kids who take their textbooks home. "Alright, you can go home, I sort of got to get home too, but. I mean." You pause, not really knowing how you want to say this without it sounding really, incredibly homo.

Dave smiles, a real smile that's shocked you into stunned silence. "Yeah, we'll see each other again."

And then he just walks away, and he doesn't look back. You vaguely remember that he had said he was lost.

////

Days pass before you see him again. You spend them sort of just floating around aimlessly. You go to school, talk to to Rose and Jade. You guess you must seem pretty out of it, because they do ask you what's wrong a few times. To be honest, you're not really sure why you don't want to tell anyone about Dave. Instead, you just say, "I'm tired."

You walk home from school everyday after, hoping you'll run into him again, but it doesn't happen. Maybe he's avoiding you. Or maybe he's just not real. You're starting to think you just imagined the whole thing. But then, on the sixth day since your famous autobiography, it's Saturday, and he's there.

It's dark when you see him this time, and he's leaning against an old building. You don't know what the building is, but it's been there since way before you were born. It's large, stories high, and Dave seems pretty at peace with it.

Dave is really, really pretty, you think, and you're not even going to try to make that not sound incredibly gay. What? He is! You still don't know how old he is, but he can't be much older than you. His eyes are closed, and a cigarette rests between two of his fingers, slowly coming up every few moments for him to breathe it in, before coming back down, smoke flying out of his mouth in a beautiful disarray of air. He's silent, more quiet than you could ever manage to be. He breathes lightly, you can see his chest move, outward, inward, and over again, but you can't hear his breathing. You can't hear him when he shifts, eyes resting on you, an imperfect blond eyebrow raising just that little bit. He's not wearing his shades.

"Hi," you say, breathless. Somewhere in you suggests that breath is your element, so it's kind of odd how he can take it away from you, but you push it away, because what is that even supposed to mean, come on.

"Hey," he responds, letting his foot that had been so casually leaning on the wall rest back on the ground. He flicks his cigarette on the ground, and steps on it.

You point to it. "You smoke?"

He shrugs. "Sometimes."

"How old are you?"

He raises both of his eyebrows now, as if surprised by your question, but his voice doesn't come out surprised when he says, "Fifteen," then, "Why?"

"Oh." You smile a bit, but you're not really sure why. "I don't know. I thought you were older."

"How old did you think I was?"

You shrug now, looking away awkwardly. "I dunno. So um... Why do you smoke?"

He walks closer to you, which makes you notice that yeah, you were just trying to have a conversation with a person from about ten feet away. Once he's standing in front of you, you're suddenly aware that whoa, you're the taller one. Cool. Dave says, "Why do you care?"

"Smoking isn't healthy, you know," you inform him, "it'll give you cancer."

"Somehow I don't think that's something I need to worry about," he says.

"What makes you think that?"

"Unimportant."

"Bluh, fine," you say. "But what made you start smoking? It's not even legal."

"You trying to tell me you've never done anything illegal before?"

"Well, no. . . ."

Dave reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his pack. He's not smiling when he asks, "Do you want to?"

Your mouth opens to form a surprised 'o'. "What?"

"Do you want to?" he repeats, taking out a cigarette now, and lighting it. You notice he doesn't take out two - he's not planning on you saying yes.

Which is good, because you're not planning on it either. "No, thanks."

"Are you sure?" He puts it to his mouth.

"Yeah."

"Alright." He pulls it away, breathes smoke out his nose. You stare as it disappears into the air. After a moment, Dave talks again, looking determinedly at you. "Hey, can I try something?"

"Uh," you say. "Sure."

It's then that Dave steps closer to you, closing what little distance there was before. He puts one hand on your waist tentatively, and the other holds his cigarette. He puts it between his lips, you watch with curious eyes as the tip turns bright orange, and by now you've stopped breathing. Once he pulls the cigarette away the hand holding it caresses your chin, and your heart is beating wild as Dave leans in and puts his mouth to yours.

He opens your mouth with his own, and he breathes into you. It's a kiss, only not, as his tongue glides along yours, and you inhale his smoke. It kind of ruins the moment when you start coughing.

Dave lets you push him away as you try to get yourself together. "You okay?"

A few seconds pass. "Yeah - " A cough, "I - I'm fine. But, um.... what was that about?"

He's still incredibly close to you, and you find yourself longing his lips against yours again. His stance looks kind of.... nervous now? Are you reading him right? "Was it okay?"

"What?" you say. "I - I mean, yeah, of course! Gosh, Dave."

"Thanks," Dave replies, smiling a little up at you. You blush under it. "That's pretty gay. I mean, that's like, legitimately homosexual, you know, but whatever."

"Whatever," you echo, and you look down into his eyes. They're red as ever, and something in you is saying that they know something you don't. Like they have an inside joke you don't understand. Something in your gut is saying that you're supposed to deny being a homosexual in this part, but you don't see why you would do that. You've never kissed another boy before, but you didn't have any problem kissing Dave, and you'd certainly like to do it again.

In fact, you kind of really want to do it again. A mischievous eyebrow raises as you say, "Can I kiss you?"

You don't give him much time to respond when you lean your head the couple inches, closing the distance between his lips and yours.

It feels nice.

**Author's Note:**

> i like..... started this and had a whole plan.... then i sort of just..... floated away...... and it can just stop here........ i guess................


End file.
